I’ve been putting off writing this story for awhile, but the time has come to get it out on the page, so to speak. Here is the story of our recent move.

Load the Truck Day had finally arrived. We’d been staying in the TLF on base twenty miles away, which meant I was in a hurry to get the girls to their last day of school on time, grab my coffee, and head to the house to let the movers in. On my way to Caribou Coffee, I was in an accident.

We make dozens of small decisions every time we drive our cars. Which route to take, whether or not to take a right on red, how best to merge into traffic. I checked the intersection (a two-way stop on a frontage road next to a four-way signal) and it was clear; then a van pulled in to the intersection to my right, partially blocking my view. I crept out of my stop at the sign, and crunch! A woman drove into my passenger-side front bumper and wheel, rendering my car undriveable.

What happens when you shake a can of soda and then open the tab? It explodes. The same thing happened to me. I’d been organizing our move, taking care of a plethora of details covering the move as well as our temporary living with my inlaws during my daughter’s ballet intensive program. While the move to this point had gone smoothly, I was still stressed out.

That sickening “crunch” and not being able to drive my car caused my “can” to explode. I cried for about an hour straight. Couldn’t stop. Freaked out when the other driver asked for my cell phone (which was in the bottom of my purse and I couldn’t find it), because she’d hit her head due to not wearing her seatbelt. Cried when talking to the police. Cried on the phone to my husband, who had to work on our last day. Cried on the phone to AAA. Cried on the phone trying to find my realtor, to let the movers in and load the truck. Cried in the tow truck. Cried at the dealership. Cried on the phone to USAA. You get the idea. I ended up crying on and off for two days!

As cruddy a situation as we were in, of course God provided for us. In time it all got worked out. The dealership shuttle delivered me home. My husband eventually finished work and came by the house. Our worldly goods drove away. We finished cleaning the house before the new owner’s walk-through. The girls had fun places to be for their last night in town. The dealership agreed to fix the car, and we decided to continue as planned, except in one car: head to Minnesota to spend Memorial Day weekend with my family, and then on to Kansas City to spend a few days with my husband’s family, before heading to Texas to move into the house that will be our home for the next year. We have a friend in the car business who is going to do the body work on my broken car, and he also found us a good used affordable vehicle to buy in the meantime.

As I write this, I realize it’s been four weeks tomorrow since my accident. After a few days of soreness, I was fine physically. Spiritually, once again I find I’m a little weaker than I thought I was. My spiritual muscles must have gotten tired at some point, and my faith was not exhibited as it probably should have been for a “chaplain’s wife.” Nevertheless, it’s been an incredible comfort to me to have friends and family in my corner. Accidents happen, and that’s the way life goes. My accident and my reaction to it was certainly not my finest hour. I didn’t take it in stride, I freaked out about it, and I didn’t exhibit the love of Christ to the woman in the other car as I “should.”

But you know what? God loves me anyway. Simply loves me. John 3:16 attests to that great love: God so loved the world that He sent His Son. Right now, I rest in that knowledge, recover spiritually and emotionally from my ordeal, and continue with the summer as planned.

Oh, and that supposed urban legend about military movers packing and moving your trash? Yeah. It happened to us in my daughter’s bedroom trash can! (Thankfully it was all paper, nothing smelly!)

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